


The Worst Generation

by garconnette



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Academia, Angst and Tragedy, Asperger Syndrome, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Boarding School, Coming of Age, Dark Academia, Drama, Drama & Romance, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Drugs, Heavy Angst, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Private School, Psychological Drama, Sex, Sins of Youth, Slice of Life, Unhealthy Relationships, Wealth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29378958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garconnette/pseuds/garconnette
Summary: It was the beginning of the school year at Baskervilles, an exceptional boarding school for the privileged who shall one day inherit the world of tomorrow. The students come back from their lavish summers, weighed down by their mistakes, their pasts, and their traumas, and already look forward to fucking up their journey within the establishment's enclosure. In this sad world unknown to the outsiders, steered by riches and pedigrees, debauchery and forfeiture rule the student body, in their relentless pursuit of happiness and bliss. In this sinister, academic setting, this youth shall face their most cardinal sins and seek their salvation, whatever the cost may be.In their quest for redemption, bonds of friendship will solidify, love stories will be born, and the heart will grow to have reasons that reason knows nothing of...This is a story of self-sabotage, health decline, and misery. Hidden realities depicting how money cannot buy felicity and how Hell is truly other people.





	1. Pilot

Whether a person is good or bad, when you're in love, you can't tell the difference. Do you remember, Castiel, our craziest times? They are the ones who changed the world. The ones who fogged up our vision and prevented us from seeing ourselves for what we really are. But, it was good. It was good like that. Ignorance was bliss. That is the cowardice of it all. It was relatable, and it was foolish of us to believe that our fancied oblivion could last forever.

But, love, friendship, the human factor of relationships, they were like a summer night. Short-lived. Do you understand, Castiel? Nothing lasts forever. Neither you nor me, nor lies, nor confessions.

 _Hey, Castiel_. I hope we’re happy. We all deserve it. All, as many as we are. Because we'll all die one day. Such is the fatality of life. So I hope, against all odds, that it has been worth it.


	2. August, 28th

“I wanna take psychedelics…”

I glanced at Julien, who was sitting next to me on the steps in front of the school entrance. I closed my eyes, exhaling a cloud of smoke, before passing her my cigarette. "Why?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, bringing the stick to her lips. "I don't really know. I saw a post on Tumblr and thought it was cool."

A smile curved my lips before I slipped out a chuckle. _Love$ick_ was blasting in my brand new Apple wired earbuds. “Valid reason. I’ll tag along if you’re really game."

"Are you serious?" She turned to me with a broad smile. I nodded slowly. Julien enthusiastically threw herself into my arms with a small cry. "Ah, August. You're golden!"

I patted her back gently, laughing. "Am I?"

The truth is, I never thought I’d gain the strength to ever let Julien fall on her own into this messy rabbit hole that was the world of drugs.

I was already a chain smoker when I first met Julien. She was still just a boy, a middle school student among many, with a loosely knotted tie, and bright, beautiful eyes. It was a calm spring day, like any other, where a young idiot decided to skip class and roll a joint behind the gym building.

"I wonder who our math teacher will be this year." With her manicured fingers, Julien tapped the end of the cig, getting rid of the excess ash. “Mr. Poe? Or maybe Mrs. Fay? Oh, I know! Mr. Crow!”

"Don’t jinx the odds!" I snatched the cigarette out of her grip, before taking a puff. “Everything except Crow. I swear, I’ll skip at least half of the lectures."

She chuckled as she dusted off her tartan skirt. “Even more than that!” Grabbing her bag, she raised onto her heels. “Well, not to be a bummer, but we’ve got a busy day ahead! Are you ready to face the wolves?"

 _Ah, yes_. The first Friday of the school year.

I tossed the cigarette on the ground before crushing the butt with the thick sole of my platform Louis Vuitton _Derby’s_. Picking up my bag, I followed Julien up the stairs. The remnants of summer were vanishing into the azure sky. The sun was shining, and the cicadas sang the last notes of our brightest days. The season was coming to an end, on this August day, or a new chapter was simply coming to life.

_the worst generation_

I don't know if public schools had a more useful curriculum than private boarding schools, but best believe that, at Baskervilles Academy, the administration would happily trade two precious hours of sex education for a lecture on the Julio-Claudians.

Therefore, I might never be able to correctly put on condoms, let alone recognize if I have gonorrhea. That being said, thank God I at least know that Claudius and Nero will both have ruled Rome for 14 years.

In short, school for society’s privileged children was straight _ass_.

My eyes lifted to gaze at the vaulted ceiling of the large lecture hall, sculpted like that of a chapel. The school's Gothic architecture was reminiscent of a large cathedral belonging in the 16th century. The building dates back to the Renaissance period, with a long history of elitism mixed with Catholicism. The structure succeeded to reflect those ancient times perfectly, with a Byzantine touch.

This might be the one thing that Catholics haven't completely screwed up. _Architecture_.

The smooth, cold texture of the black beads of my rosary rested against my neck. My fingers nervously tapped a steady rhythm against the leather of my history book. From my seat, at the end of the classroom, I felt a heated breeze creep through the large arched windows. I could overhear Oliver and Jourdan jokingly whispering porn star names to each other in the row behind.

My eyes were running left and right, as my fingers started to fidget, when...

A whisper rose behind my back, followed by a pat on my shoulder. “Auggie!”

I turned stealthily to Victor Abbott, being careful not to attract Mr. Carlisle's attention. “What is it, Abbott?”

“Take a snuff and pass!” Grinning, he handed me a little book, featuring a brown leather bookmark. I gave Julien a confused look, to which she answered with a frown and a shrug. Quietly, I dispossessed Victor of his book and returned to my original position.

Opening the book to the marked page, I discovered a hollow. _A book safe._

In the cavity was a small potion bottle filled with white powder and topped with a cork stopper. Next to it sat a crucifix-shaped snuff spoon.

Instantly, my jaw dropped. Eyes wide, and with trembling fingers, I swiftly grabbed the bottled cocaine and the spoon to hide them behind my desk, on my skirt. After a panicked look around, making sure I drew no attention, I started to bend down, as my fingers struggled to pop open the little bottle.

Julien sent me a mocking smile, moving subtly on her seat to try and conceal my activities.

Finally removing the cap, I dipped the snuff spoon into the immaculate powder, before bringing the substance to one nostril, as a finger of my free hand blocked the other one.

Without second thoughts, I inhaled the powdery matter.

As soon as I sniffed it all in, I effortlessly straightened up on my seat and passed the drugs to Julien. When she took possession of the bottle and the spoon, it was my turn to start waddling in my seat, trying to hide my neighbor.

When she finished, she sealed the bottle with the cork stopper and smoothly handed me the material. Discreetly, I placed the bottle and spoon back in the hollow of the book safe before shutting it.  
  
Then Julien took hold of the book and passed it to her neighbor on the right, Ashlyn Sutherland, whispering the same words Abbott had addressed to me. _Snuff and pass._

Smiling to myself, I felt the effects rush through me. My brain suddenly drowned in dopamine and I felt a wave of vain happiness run through my body.

 _That_ was the perfect picture of our experience at Baskervilles. Private schools were made up of a collected bunch of damaged kids throwing themselves into disrepair. As for their parents, they hid behind the mask of having placed their children into an institution with a prestigious parochial heritage, in order to convince themselves that faith could still save their offspring.

_It was laughable, wasn’t it, Castiel? We stored cocaine in our chaplets. At that time, I had not yet met you. I hadn’t yet realized how stupid it sounded to whine about having struggles when you carry your problems in overpriced leather satchels._

The lecture seemed more and more insignificant, as I enjoyed the high of the moment, sitting on a school bench, in a history class.

The picture was ridiculously appalling. A degrading canvas of today's generation. Girls, in short kilts and headbands, powdering their noses. Boys in ties and Oxford shoes, sprinkling their tongues with snow. Children, with no real regards for the future. Cheaters, liars, nervous people... _Like you and I, Castiel_.


	3. September, 9th

_You know, Castiel, I've been told before that bad choices make the best stories. Deep down, I think that's why my story is fashioned with indiscipline and disobedience and eternal nights. Yet, I believe that if I had known all this carelessness would eventually catch up to us, I would have thought about it twice. But, Castiel, do you know I have no regrets? I swear I don’t. These nights, when we shrugged off reality and only made things go our way...These nights will forever remain etched in my memory as the best times of my life._

“I think I'm going to break up with him…”

I winced at Julien, who stood beside me, looking mockingly carefree. Walking towards our next class, we hurtled down the corridors of Baskervilles, coffees in hand. “Who?” I asked. “Your lawyer?”

"FYI, Finn is not _my_ lawyer."

I sighed. "I know that, but, what do you want me to call him?" Finn Cabot was that young lawyer Julien had fallen in love with. Of course, that day they met, she had noticed that wedding ring shining on his finger. But, that hadn’t stopped their story from flourishing to the point that today, she could claim the power to break things off.

"Try to call him Finn, maybe?" She grimaced back as if her answer was the height of evidence.

"Not interested. What if I called him _asshole_ instead? He’s cheating on his woman with a minor. Hats off!"

Julien's laughter rose up. "What love does to men, right?" She said solemnly, through her hilarity. “I thought about it yesterday, eyeing that Van Cleef bracelet he gave me. I really must be a horrible person, right, August?"

Julien was indeed a horrible person. But I was too, in my own fucked-up way. “You followed your heart.” I shrugged. “You won't be the first to do so. The world is made up of people who are not much wiser.”

It wasn’t hard to find sympathy within yourself for this woman whose husband was unfaithful. She was just the idiot wife. I believed there was nothing more miserable than being the fool who’d realize their mistake last.

As for Julien, she _was_ horrible. But, she was also foreign to this situation. She had the right to do whatever she wanted, no matter how bad the collateral damages might be, and blaming her seemed stupid to me. She owed this woman nothing, nor did she owe Finn anything. She was simply horrible, like anyone who wrecks a home on a whim. But Finn Cabot...To me, he was the true monster.

"I thought of her a lot, you know, August?" Julien suddenly stopped in her track, and leaned against a wall, near an arched window overlooking one of the school gardens.

Looking out the clear glass, her eyes saddened. “Of this woman, for whom I must be a fever dream. This woman, who carries his child and mourns his faults, while he fucks me in a hotel suite." She closed her eyes. “I thought of her, and cried. I found myself wishing I never ran into someone like me. That I shall never cross paths with someone who’s anything like me. A hypocrite, a coward, a liar...How could I even dare cry for her? I was so unworthy. The next minute, her husband was making love to me, and I watched him take off his wedding band before he betrayed her again."

I looked at Julien leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head turned, eyes closed and brows folded in a saddened frown. I looked at her, my head tilted, and sighed. “Your actions may be awful, I agree, but your thoughts do not make you unworthy. You feel for her. Even the world's worst enemies have the ability to sympathize. You and that woman both share an attachment to the worst of men. I think you understand her more than you pity her. It is not someone like you that you truly wished you never ran into, but someone like _him_. That makes all the difference."

Slowly, Julien opened her eyes, and I noticed her tears brimming.

_Castiel, was I hopeless to believe that Julien wasn’t so bad? She was fickle and selfish, that was all. I have seen worse flaws in people that, today, we idealize. Was it so bad that she wanted to be happy? Maybe it was I who didn't see things for what they truly were. I loved Julien more than anything, and of course, that clouded my view of the bigger picture. But, really, I tried hard and couldn't convince myself that she was a bad person. Again, maybe I was the problem. Could we recognize in others the flaws that we failed to even acknowledge in ourselves? I saw us as two stoners trying to convince each other that they didn't reek of weed. The blind leading the blind. Ah yes...Maybe I was the problem._

Stepping towards Julien, I leaned against the wall, next to her, and crossed my arms, before leaning in and gently resting my head on her shoulder. “I could care less about what happens to this love affair. I’ll always be on your side.”

I heard her smile, as her hand came to take hold of mine. "I know. That shit’ll cause your downfall, someday.”

I nodded, not really paying attention to her words. After all, it didn't matter to me.

The bell rang.

I absentmindedly watched the students rush down the halls, hurrying to their classrooms. It was a most chaotic view. They jostled and bumped and ran into each other, and laughed, and complained, and mocked, and swore, running in their expensive uniforms and heads full of worries.

We stood there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her right hand intertwining with my left hand, my head resting on her shoulder, her tearful gaze glued to the clear window overlooking the gardens of the establishment. 

We stood there, thinking, as the world passed us by.

_the worst generation_

Campus life wasn’t what it was made of in the books and movies we fantasized about. Sure, there was the classic, old money aesthetic, the sinister architectural visuals, the hard drugs, the late nights infiltrating the school building, and the endless hours spent in the common library for group study sessions — except that, instead of studying, we wasted time smoking and looking for ways to cheat on our mock exams.

But, contrary to popular belief, it was not an easy lifestyle. If you had to weigh the pros and cons of boarding school, the downsides would quickly overshadow the upsides.

In boarding school, you could bet your left arm that walls could talk and winds blew secrets. Nothing remained buried forever. It was a life of drama, in a setting that reflected and emanated academia. There was always a conflict, a scandal. It’s almost like we fed on unhealthy behaviors. Not to mention the strict curriculum, which required effort worthy of the Ivy League.

It was a poisonous, toxic, exhausting, and suffocating environment, yet we romanticized it in order to convince ourselves that war always had the better of peace. To convince ourselves that nothing beats a good gossip told in the girl’s bathroom on the fifth floor, between two classes, while applying a third coat of mascara, in our Miu Miu pumps.

The administration happened to sow a handful of problematic and broken children in a dormitory, and reaped suicides, mental disorders nurtured within the school enclosure, drug addictions, and unwanted pregnancies...In short, nothing of what one would expect from a cohort part of one of the three best boarding schools in the country. Truth was a terrible thing. It wasn’t a book or a movie. It was worse. Much worse.

"You got a cig, Auggie?"

Camellia Clare's voice reached my ear, as my lips plucked a cigarette out of the Marlboro box between my fingers. "Of course!" I picked another stick to hand it to Julien, before passing the box to the newcomer. Hidden behind the building that serves as the school’s main library, we waited for the end of the break.

“What’s our next class?” Julien asked, pulling her vintage lighter out of the pocket of her crisp uniform blazer.

As she lit the fire, we all leaned in and approached the source of heat to light up the end of our cigarettes. Once done, we backed up simultaneously. “Latin, with Carwyn.” Camellia snarled, blowing her smoke.

I rolled my eyes. "Big deal!"

Julien raised an eyebrow. “We barely have a week left before our essay on Virgil is due, right? Has anyone started?"

I let out a smoky laugh. “And where exactly, in our tight ass schedule, did you expect us to fit this bullshit? Between preparing for our ethics debates, writing the five-page French paper, perfecting our violin pieces, working on the Machiavelli thesis, studying for the math test, and understanding Archimedes’s principle?”

She sighed, bringing her hand to her forehead, her cigarette sitting between her index and middle fingers. "I had overlooked those slight details."

Camellia blew out another puff. “One night at Ducasse, I met this American guy who goes to Princeton and excels in that super tough Latin class they added to the curriculum. The _Aeneid_ is surely on his course outline. I could get us some tips?”

"Jackpot!" I beamed. "For when exactly do you think you can get the tips?"

“Tomorrow night, at most. He’s a dry texter.”

"Perfect!" I conclude. "So, by the day after tomorrow, we'll be officially done with this essay."

Julien growled. "Can't wait to get it over with Virgil and Horace!"

“One step at a time.”

_the worst generation_

_Do you remember your greatest sins, Castiel? You were always a greedy boy. You liked to play. Whether it was with your money or your life, you never cared to make the difference. You played, that was all, without regards for any consequences. There were times when I wondered if you would cause my downfall. By dint of playing, you came to forget that my happiness depended on your love, and that love, like money, or life, was not a game._

"€ 9500." The sound of playing chips being tossed at the center of a table echoed across the large hall.

“Raise! € 11 000!”

“Call!”

“Call…”

“Call.”

From our table, on the second floor of the main library, seated near the balustrades, Julien, two other students — Laurent and Celia — and I were inclined to close our copies of Machiavelli’s _Prince_ , as a game of Indian poker primed at a table on the rez-de-chaussée, for all to see.

The players had chosen a variant where the hands required two cards. Players were allowed to turn over the first card that was dealt. As for the second card, they weren't allowed to turn it over and look. Instead, they had to hold it against their foreheads for all to see. The strongest match won.

As if time had stilled, all activities were halted to witness the game. Apparently, the librarian had fallen terribly ill, so the hall was entirely ours.

“Something about food poisoning,” Laurent explained, his eyes locked on the game after Julien had questioned him about the librarian's sudden disappearance. “Personally, I believe it to be fiction. That woman overdosed on fentanyl, or something. Who knows? It wouldn’t be the first time...”

Tristan Radcliff, Jasper Bennett, Tobias Cornell, and Castiel Buchanan were in the middle of a heated poker game, with Dmitri Sterling as the dealer, standing by the table.

“Raise. € 20,000.”

A hubbub of gasps rose through the library, due to the complete collective shock at the words that had escaped Castiel Buchanan's lips.

"What the fuck!" A student cried out from across the room.

I glanced around furtively. Every face wore a stunned and scandalized expression. The mouths were gaping and the eyes, jumping out of their sockets. Dumbfounded, my gaze finally froze on this tall boy, with empty, fleeing eyes and effortlessly proud posture, who had just pronounced this showstopping raise. He seemed calm and amusingly bored. As if he had already won.

“F-Fold.” Tristan hurried to announce.

“Fold.” The other two followed simultaneously.

“Gentlemen, showdown!” Dmitri spoke. 

And, as if in sync, the four players placed the card they were holding against their foreheads on the table, next to the upside-down card they had been able to peak at. Then, they turned the cards over one at a time to reveal their hand.

“High card…”

A deadly silence fell over the library. The looks of Jasper, Tristan, and Tobias grew horrified.

_A high card._

“Five of clubs.” Castiel tossed his cards in the middle of the table, surrounded by the playing chips.

I looked at his hand, grimacing. A three of diamonds and a five of clubs. My gaze then ran to the other players’ hands. A suit. A pair. Another high card, but of a greater rank than Castiel's. They all had a much better hand than him, and yet...

He was sitting there, on that library chair, like a king on a royal seat. Suddenly, I pictured him, sitting on an iron throne, atop a mountain of human bodies shaped like chess pieces.

_Castiel, I met you one day in September. That day, when I unwittingly realized that you did not belong to this world._


	4. September, 10th

You know, Castiel, I was once let know that other people come to love you when you listen to them. When you put up with them, while they lulled over the difficulties of life, like divorced parents, a journey in rehab, the death of a loved one, an episode of depression, an overdose of codeine…

I wasn’t like that. I couldn't stand people finding in me a comfort zone or a shoulder to cry on, just so they can throw all their dirty laundry at someone.

In a way, I think that's why I got along so well with Julien. She always had all the problems in the world and would never shy away from spewing all her issues to me, although I never listened to her. Yet, indeed, there was the key. She didn't give a damn that I never listened to her. She never seeks my attention. I was there, I existed, and that was more than enough for her.

Was it normal? Did that even make sense?

Anyway, all this to tell you that, in the eyes of all, I believe that you seemed warmer than me and that you listened to people as a priest listened to his Christendom.

I know better, Castiel, and I believe even more that deep down, you never even listened to anything that other people might’ve told you. You pretended, and you smiled or nodded from time to time, shared a few comments, made them believe that you understood them and that your attention was genuinely theirs to take for granted. Your soft, empty eyes swore that there was no one else in the world you'd rather listen to. Yet, that very persona people fancied and idealized could’ve stabbed them in the back, while they’d cut themselves open and pour their hearts out to you.

Your honesty was so vain.

And sometimes I would wonder if I was like all these other idiots who thought they were important to you. I came to the conclusion that; indeed, I was no different from them. Nothing and I mean _nothing_ hurt me more than realizing that I was one among many to you.

_the worst generation_

El Gant's _Pass That Dutch_ was currently blowing the decibel level on the upstairs living room, inside the girls' dormitory. With a cigarette in my mouth, surrounded by other students taking Arthur Carwyn’s Latin class, I scrutinized Camellia behind the dark lenses of my Versace sunglasses.

"Did _Princeton_ text back?” I asked, blowing my smoke, as I sat on the armrest of the chair on which Julien was seated.

Looking up from her new MacBook Pro, Camellia shook her head. I sighed and shook my hand in a dismissive gesture.

Laurent let out a small laugh as he fixed his Hublot eyewear. “Worst case scenario, we end up doing lines and we rush this essay.”

I raised my eyebrows at the plausibility of this idea, glancing at Julien. She shrugged with a smirk. “I’ll allow _Princeton_ 6 whole minutes before I flour up this table.”

The group laughed sardonically. In a way, we truly embodied the downsides of teenage fantasies, and I had to assume that, from an outside perspective, it did seem pretty miserable.

"By the way, Toby," Hugo started out, sitting next to Laurent, and glancing slyly at Tobias Cornell. "How much in debt did you stack up during the game of poker?"

Attention unprecedentedly went to Tobias, as the latter shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing in exasperation. “Castiel, that son of a bitch. For fuck’s sake, I’m convinced he cheated, but I just can’t put my finger on how he did it."

Laurent sneered mockingly. "Of course, Cornell, because Heaven forbid someone ever won against you. If that occurs, there simply _has_ to be something fishy going on, right?"

Toby scowled at the derisive tone. "Fuck you, Laurent."

“Sorry, but sore losers are really not my thing.” The bespectacled boy affirmed. "You won’t get your money back just because you refuse to acknowledge your loss. It’s quite childish."

I snickered silently. “Take a look at Tristan, Toby.”

“Didn't hear him complain once!” Julien added, pointing at the blond lad sitting in silence. “You should learn from this."

“You obviously weren’t there an hour ago...” Tristan growled, causing laughter around the group. “No, ‘cause it's actually fucking ridiculous. Five fucking games and he won them all. My bad, Laurent, but there _is_ something fishy."

Laurent shook his head, in an eye roll.

"Speaking of winners," Camelia jumped in, looking around with a frown. "Isn’t he also taking this class? Where is he?"

Tristan arched a brow. "Who? That other asshole?” Camelia nodded.

Toby tsked. "He’s currently with Jasper. The boy’s busy arguing over the phone with his fucking father, trying to get him to unfreeze his funds and pay off his debt. Not everybody happens to walk around with tens of thousands of euros in their back pockets. Obviously, his dad, who’s a little less lenient than Tristan and I’s parents, seriously frowns upon his son’s urge to take out such a critical amount of money in such a hurry."

I winced in surprise. "Do you all owe him tens of thousands?"

"At the very least.” Tristan rectified. "I paid my dues, though. I have peace of mind. What about you, Toby?"

“Likewise.” The concerned replied, shrugging. “I gave him my Patek Philippe as leverage while waiting for the transfer to be completed.”

Julien pouted with a frown. “How come it went so smoothly for you guys, while he has to go through hell for just a small transfer.”

Tobias pursed his lips, seeming uncomfortable. “Jasper’s debt’s not exactly a _small_ transfer…” At his words, Tristan averted his gaze. “His debt’s a little more…paramount."

Laurent arched a brow. "We’re talking Hermès Birkin paramount?" We all spun to look at the boys.

Tristan and Tobias turned to each other with a painful wince. “Around € 65,000.” The blond finally admitted.

My cigarette, now unlit, wiggled off from my lips, and silently fell on the carpeted floor. "Jasper owes this guy 75% of the annual Baskervilles tuition fees?" I asked, outraged.

Julien chuckled mischievously. "It might be that I have more brain cells than you guys, but I think I would have had my fill and figured out the dynamic before or during the third play. You bunch have gone through _five_ games. It must be said that the memo did not get through. You could’ve gone up to ten games, he would’ve won regardless.”

Tobias rolled his eyes. “Don't think we didn’t get the memo, Julien. When the fourth game started, it was purely a matter of reducing our debts. The odds just fucked it up, and we piled up losses instead."

The truth was such that the money really wasn't the problem, here. Attending Baskervilles was in itself a warranty that, every Christmas, you receive watches as expensive as the school fees. The real catch was the blow these young morons' egos had taken. The word _betting_ wasn’t an issue. People go hard around here, blowing stacks of cash like it grows on trees, playing like high rollers in a James Bond movie, and mindlessly living life like they live twice. The deal was that, naturally, things were to become problematic when betting came down to _losing_.

Tobias shuddered. "Jasper must be going through one hell of a phone call right now, I’ll tell you that..."

Tristan sighed, as he threw his head back on the armchair’s cushioned headrest. "Why can I actually _hear_ the speech his dad’s giving him right now…And let’s not even address the fact that Castiel’s, like, right next to him.”

Both boys shook their heads as if regretting the situation their friend was caught in. I chuckled at their misery.

_Ping._

Suddenly, a sharp alarm resonated through the hall before Julien unexpectedly put an end to the ear-splitting noise. We all darted at her, confused and taken aback. Looking around in a fleeting gaze, she beamed at us. “Ladies, gentlemen, and whatever fits in between the Alpha and the Omega, 6 minutes have finally gone by. Take out the powder. We have an essay to write."

_the worst generation_

Rae Sremmurd was blessing the room to the rhythms of _Black Beatles_ , playing from the Bluetooth connected to the speakers built into the bedroom.

I slid a rolled € 500 bill along the large mahogany table, my nostril unceremoniously snorting the white powder through the thin cylindrical shape. Completing the line, I tilted my head back, eyes wide open, lips grinning, as the music filled my senses.

Then I hurried out of a certain Sofia Firelli’s bedroom, a most-likely mundane student whose dorm room turned into a private lounge for cocaine intake.

Stumbling out of the room, I ran into Laurent, who was in possession of two laptops, his pupils dilated to the max. "That," He awkwardly handed me my MacBook. "is yours. Julien gave it to me, while she went to get hers."

I tried to compose myself, my computer in hand, while Laurent and I drew our way towards the living hall where we initially were, passing by the other students who were standing next to Sofia's room, in a semblance of line, waiting for their turn to take a hit.

I walked, thoughtful. _No wonder why the year had just started, and yet, no less than four dorm parents had already resigned, leaving the residences constantly unsupervised._ We, the Baskervilles cohort, were the most elite form of hell.

Stepping into the large living room, silence weighed, as everyone — seated somewhere between the floor, an armchair, a table, and someone’s lap — stared at their screens with deep concentration. The rhythmic sound of fingers tapping quickly against their latest Apple keyboards filled the room. Everyone had eyes large as marbles, black as coal, veiled by the effects of dope.

I felt my pulse quicken and my blood rushing through my veins. Finding Julien, I went to her, followed by Laurent, and threw myself on the floor, gently landing on my stomach. Comfortable enough, I opened my computer, read over my notes, and, without second thoughts, started typing on the Word software.

Next thing you know, I was writing, and writing, and writing, like I had been doing this all my life.

 _Princeton_ had finally responded to Camellia, so we were able to read over and follow the assignment’s guidelines, in addition to using an exceptional format and information straight out of an Ivy League class outline.

Seconds, minutes, or hours had passed. _Yamborghini High_ played, volume upped to the max, from a loud Beats Pill+.

I was now in a sitting position, leaning against Julien's seat, a cigarette stuck between my teeth. Near me, Tobias was also sitting, his back leaning against a coffee table, his laptop on his lap. From his plump, pretty lips, hung a lit cigarette. At the sight of fire, I grabbed my laptop and set it aside, before proceeding to crawl over to the boy. On all fours, I raised my hand to pat his shoulder.

He turned to me in surprise, and I raised my chin to point out my unlit cigarette. He instantly seized my body language and leaned in until the tips of our cigarettes touched.

_Castiel. Oddly enough, you will have met me that night for the very first time, for exactly who I am. You will have met me, high on drugs, on all fours, bumping the end of my cigarette against another guy's, trying to make this meaningless, ephemeral feeling of euphoria last._

“Castiel!” A voice suddenly arose.

The crackle of the fire running through the tip of my cigarette reached my ears, as, seemingly calm, my heart skipped a beat at the hearing of the newcomer's name. Slowly leaning back, and breaking eye contact with Tobias, my gaze trailed over to the black-covered figure of Castiel Buchanan.

Tall, and appearing to run the world, he was dressed all in black. His cold gaze fled, as though disdainful of all.

"You came, in the end!” The male voice continued, and I realized it was Victor Abbott's. I witnessed the latter getting up from his seat when Castiel arrived to smile warmly at him. A warmth to which Castiel did not bother to reciprocate. He just ignored Abbott and walked over to a vacant seat under everyone's gaze.

Obviously, the seat in question was close to Julien's, right in front of where Tobias was, with me by his side.

_Close your eyes and let the word paint a thousand pictures_

_One_ _good girl is worth a thousand bitches, bound._

I hadn't realized the music shifting until I viewed him standing in front of me, staring down at me from those towering 6 feet something. Our eyes collided in an awkward encounter. I couldn’t seize what he wanted from me. But I realized he was _beautiful_.

"Can you move your feet?"

His deep, hoarse, cultivated voice reaches my ears with gentleness and gravity. My eyes shifted from him to the position of my long legs. My manicured feet, now bare, were placed in front of the legs of the chair he intended to sit on. Pulling the cigarette from between my lips to exhale the smoke to the side, I let my eyes move up to his for a second time. Then, giving in, I bent my legs to let him settle down.

He didn't thank me. He didn't even grant me a second look. He just sat down and opened his laptop to work.

_You were so beautiful, Castiel. Like a hero, or the villain of a book. But you were neither. You certainly weren't a villain, but you were even less a hero. You were just you, with your ethereal features, delicate and precise, like those of a fallen angel. You, and your aura of calm, coldness, control, grace and elegance, peace, holiness, Machiavellianism, fragility, and strength and imperiality._

“Hey, Buchanan!” Tobias' voice growled. I turned to him, annoyed, before taking a deep puff. My eyes now set on my cigarette, I watched the tip redden as I inhaled, listening to the soft tingle of burning tobacco. "What about Jasper?” He asked.

Castiel didn't look up from his screen but still cared to answer. "I understood it was complicated with his father, so I let him know he could take his time to pay me back. He took it the wrong way and went to lock himself up in his room. Personally, I don't have fucks to give. He should have known his limits and his means better. He would be much less miserable."

Tobias was about to refute angrily when I chuckled. His gaze focused on me instead, his irises burning with rage. _What ego does to men, right, Castiel?_

"Something funny, August?" Tobias spat; his jaw clenched. I could feel Julien's growing hilarity behind my back.

I just shrugged. "No… It's just…" My gaze searched for Castiel's. Unfortunately, it was glued to his screen. "…To be true, I also pity poor Jasper Bennett."

Toby took a shaky breath. "August, you can honestly take your pity and shove it right up your—"

“I'll pay for him."

The words slipped out of my mouth like butter. The hubbub in the room gradually died down, following my words. Then, to my satisfaction, the desired effect occurred. Castiel's eyes popped out of their IT bubble to grant me some semblance of attention.

"I'll pay for him…" I repeated, before proceeding to remove my custom malachite bracelet hanging around my arm. I tossed the accessory at him, smiling and free of ulterior motive. The piece of fine jewelry landed awkwardly on his thigh. “Piaget,” I stated. “That should be enough a warranty until the transfer is complete."

"What are you doing, August?” Tobias snapped furiously. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

I turned to him nonchalantly. “It's not a gift, Tobias. Don’t get your dick in a twist, now. It's only a loan until Jasper manages his shit. When he can, he’ll give me the money back. You should be grateful. I'm gatekeeping his pride right now, by preventing him from remaining in Castiel's debts. I think, deep down, that's what annoys him, and not the fact that his little daddy is currently pissing him off.”

Tobias' eyes widened in anger. I tilted my head and shrugged. “He can thank me later."

Leaving him speechless, I turned at last to Castiel, who seemed to be attending this scene as one attends a circus act. I beamed at him.

_Castiel, you knocked me over that night. You didn't have to do much to leave a mark on me, an unparalleled impact. That night, I smiled at you for the first time, and I knew deep down that it was a point of no return._


End file.
